by Cora Reilly
And I did, even though my world spun and I had to hold my ribs. His black eyes took in my injuries. “Suppose I will have to do most of the fighting. Got any weapons?”
I pulled my Karambit knife from the holster around my calf.
“I hope you can handle that thing.”
Then the Russians were upon us. The guy began some martial arts shit that kept two of the Russians busy. The third headed my way. I swiped my knife at him and missed. He landed a few hits that had my chest screaming with agony, and I dropped to my knees. My bruised body had no chance against a trained fighter like him. His fists rained down on me, hard, fast, merciless. Pain.
Black-haired guy lunged at my attacker, ramming his knee into his stomach. The Russian fell forward, and I raised my knife, which buried itself in his abdomen. Blood trickled down my fingers and I released the handle as if burnt as the Russian toppled to his side, dead.
I stared at my knife sticking out of his belly. Black-haired guy pulled it out, cleaned the blade on the dead man’s shorts, then held it out to me. “First kill?” My fingers shook as I took it, then nodded.
“There will be more.”
The two other Russians were dead as well. Their necks had been broken. He held out his hand, which I took, and pulled me to my feet. “We should leave. More Russian fuckers will be here soon. Come on.”
He led me toward a beaten up truck. “Noticed you slinking around the parking lot the last two nights when I was here to fight.”
“Why did you help me?”
There was that twisted smile again. “Because I like to fight and kill. Because I hate the fucking Bratva. Because my family wants me dead too. But most importantly, because I need loyal soldiers who will help me take back what’s mine.”
“Who are you?”
“Remo Falcone. And I will be Capo of the Camorra soon.” He opened the door to the truck and was halfway in when he added. “You can help or you can wait for the Bratva to get you.”
I got in. Not because of the Bratva.
Because Remo had shown me a new purpose, a new destiny.
A new family.
Chapter Two
The window of the Greyhound bus felt sticky hot, or perhaps it was my face. The infant in the row behind me had stopped wailing ten minutes ago – after almost two hours. I peeled back my cheek from the glass, feeling sluggish and tired. After hours, squeezed into the stuffy seat, I couldn’t wait to get out. Las Vegas’ posh suburbs rolled past with their immaculate greens, always sufficiently watered by sprinklers. Surrounded by desert, that was probably the ultimate sign for having money. Elaborate Christmas decorations adorned the porches and fronts of freshly painted houses.
That wouldn’t be my stop.
The bus trudged on, the floor vibrating under my bare feet, until finally it arrived in that part of town where no tourist would ever set foot in. The All-you-can-eat buffets cost only $9,99 around here, not $59. I could afford neither. I swung my backpack over my shoulder. Not that I minded. I’d grown up in areas like these. In Phoenix, Houston, Dallas, Austin…and more other places than I cared to count.
Out of habit I reached into my pocket for a mobile that was no longer there. Mother had sold it for her last dose of crystal meth. Those $20 had been a pity sell, no doubt.
I slipped into my flip-flops, tossed my backpack over my shoulder and waited until most of the other people had left before I stepped off the bus, releasing a long breath. The air was drier than in Austin and it was a few degrees colder, but still not wintery cold. Somehow I felt already freer away from my mother. This was her last shot at therapy. I hoped she’d make it a success. I was stupid for hoping she could.
“Leona?” came a deep voice from somewhere to the right.
I turned, surprised. My father stood a few feet from me. About thirty more pounds on his hips, and less hair on his head. I hadn’t expected him to pick me up. He’d promised to do it, but I knew what a promise from him or my mother was worth. Less than the dirt under my shoes. Perhaps he’d really changed like he’d claimed?
He quickly stubbed out his cigarette under his worn out loafers. The short-sleeved shirt stretched over his pouch. There was an erratic air about him that had me worried.
I smiled. “The one and only.”
I wasn’t surprised he’d had to ask. The last time I’d seen him had been on my fourteenth birthday, more than five years ago. I hadn’t exactly missed him. I’d missed the idea of a father he could never be. Still it was nice to see him again. Perhaps we could start anew.
He came over to me and drew me into an awkward hug. I wrapped my arms around him despite the lingering stench of sweat and smoke. It had been a while since someone had hugged me. He pulled back and scanned me from head to toe. “You’ve grown.” His eyes stopped on my smile. “And your pimples are gone.”
Have been for three years. “Thank god,” I said instead. He pushed his hands into his pockets, as if he was suddenly unsure of what to do with me. “I was surprised when you called.”
I tugged a strand of hair behind my ear, not sure I knew where he was going with this. “You never did,” I said, sounding light-hearted. I hadn’t come to Vegas to dish out guilt Dad had never been a good father, but he’d tried occasionally, even if he always failed. Mother and him, they were both fucked up in their very own way. Their addictions had always been the thing getting in the way of caring for me the way they should have. It would always be like that.
He appraised me. “Are you sure you want to stay with me?”
My smile wavered. Was this what this was all about? He didn’t want me around? I really wished he’d mentioned it before I’d paid for a bus ticket that took me through half the States. He’d said he had won over his addiction, that he had a decent job and a normal life. I wanted to believe him.
“It’s not that I’m not happy to have you with me. I missed you,” he said quickly; too quickly. Lies.
“Then what?” I asked, trying but failing to hide my rising hurt.
“It’s not a good place for a nice girl like you, Leona.”
I laughed. “I’ve never exactly lived in the nice parts of town,” I told him. “I can handle myself.”
“No. It’s different here. Believe me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good at staying out of trouble.” I’d had years of practice. With a meth-addicted mother who sold anything, even her body, for her next fix, you had to learn to duck your head and mind your own business.
“Sometimes trouble finds you. It happens around here more often than you’d believe.” The way he said it, I worried that trouble was a constant guest in his life.
I sighed. “Honestly, Dad, I’ve lived with a mother who spent most of her days passed out on the sofa and you never worried enough to take me away from her. Now that I’m grown up, you are worried I can’t handle living in the city of sin?”
He looked at me as if he was going to say more but then he finally took my backpack before I could tighten my hold. “You are right.”
“And I’m only going to stay here until I’ve earned enough money for college. There are enough places around here where I can own decent money with tips I suppose?”
He looked relieved that I wanted to work. Had he thought I was going to live off him?
“There are more than enough places, but few that are fit for a girl like you.”
I shook my head with a smile. “Don’t worry. I can handle drunkards.”
“I’m not worried about them,” he said nervously.
“Are you really thinking about working with the Famiglia?” I panted as I dodged a kick aimed at my head. “I told you how they fucked with the Outfit.”
I thrust my bandaged fist into Remo’s side, then tried a kick at his legs and got a fist into my stomach instead. I jumped back, out of Remo’s reach. Then feigned an attack to the left but kicked with my right leg instead. Remo’s arm shot up, protecting his head and taking the full force of my kick. He didn’t fall. “I don’t want to w
ork with them. Not with Luca fucking Vitiello, nor with Dante fucking Cavallaro. We don’t need them.”
“Then why send me to New York?” I asked.
Remo landed two quick punches in my left side. I sucked in a breath and rammed my elbow down on his shoulder. He hissed and darted away, but I’d got him. His arm hung too low. I’d dislocated his shoulder. My favorite move.
“Open refusal?” he asked half in jest, giving no indication that he was in agony.
“You wish.”
Remo liked to break things. I didn’t think he liked anything better. Sometimes I thought he wanted me to revolt so he could try breaking me because I’d be his biggest challenge. I had no intention of giving him the chance. Not that he’d succeed.
He glared and lunged at me. I barely dodged his first two kicks; the third hit my chest. I was thrown into the boxing ring and almost lost my balance but caught myself by gripping the rope. I quickly straightened and raised my fists.
“Oh fuck this shit,” Remo snarled. He grabbed his arm and tried to relocate his shoulder. “I can’t fight with this fucking useless limb.”
I lowered my hands. “So you give up?”
“No,” he said. “Tie.”
“Tie,” I agreed. There had never been anything but ties in our fights except for the very first year when I’d been a scrawny kid without a clue how to fight. We were both too strong fighters, too used to pain, too indifferent if we lived or died. If we ever fought it out till the end, we’d both end up dead, no doubt about it. I snatched up a towel from the floor, and wiped blood and sweat from my chest and arms.
With a grunt, Remo finally managed to set his arm. If I’d helped, it would have been quicker and less painful. He’d never let me. Pain meant nothing to him. Nor to me.
I threw a clean towel at him and he caught it with his injured arm to prove a point. He dried his hair but only managed to spread the blood from a cut in his head all over his black hair. He dropped the towel unceremoniously. His scar running from his left temple down to his left cheek was an angry red from fighting.
“So why?” I asked, removing the red-tinged bandages around my fingers and wrist.
“I want to see how things are going over there. I’m curious. That’s all. And I like to know my enemies. You will be able to gather more information than any of us just by watching them interact. But most of all I want to send them a clear message.” His dark eyes became hard. “You aren’t thinking about playing happy family with your sisters and becoming one of Vitiello’s lapdogs?”
I cocked one eyebrow. More than five years. And he really had to ask? I swung myself over the boxing ring and landed on the floor on the other side with close to no sound. “I belong to the Camorra. When they all abandoned me, you took me in. You made me who I am today, Remo. You should know better than to accuse me of being a traitor. I will put my life down for you. And if I must, I will take the Outfit and the Famiglia to hell with me.”
“One day you will get your chance,” he said.
To lay down my life for him, or to take down the other families?
“I have another task for you.”
I nodded. I’d expected it. He held my eyes. “You are the only one who can get close to Aria. She is Vitiello’s weakness.”
I kept my expression impassive.
“Bring her to me, Fabiano.”
“Dead or alive?”
He smiled. “Alive. If you kill her, Vitiello will go on a rampage but if we have his wife, he’ll be our puppet.”
I didn’t have to ask why he had an interest in tearing down the Famiglia. We didn’t need their territory and it wasn’t worth much as long as Dante owned everything in the middle. We were making enough money in the West as it was. Remo was out for revenge. Luca had made a mistake when he’d taken in the former Enforcer of the Camorra, and he’d made an even bigger mistake when he’d sent the man back to kill many high ranking Camorrista while Las Vegas was without a strong Capo to lead the city. Before Remo.
“See it as done.”
Remo inclined his head. “Your father was a fucking fool for overlooking your worth. But that’s how fathers are. Mine would have never allowed me to become Capo. It’s a pity I didn’t get to kill him myself.”
That was something Remo envied me for. I could still kill my father, and one day I would.
It had been years since I’d last treaded New York ground. I’d never liked the city much. It had meant nothing but loss to me.
The bouncer in front of the Sphere gave me a once over as I approached. I detected another guard on the roof. The street was deserted except for us. That wasn’t going to change until much later when the first party-goers would try to get in.
I stopped in front of the bouncer. He rested his hand on the gun in his hip holder. He wouldn’t be quick enough. “Fabiano Scuderi,” I said simply. Of course he knew. They all knew. Without a word, he let me walk into the waiting room. Two men barred my way there. “Weapons,” one of them ordered, pointing at a table.
“No,” I said.
The taller of the two, several inches shorter than me, brought his face close to mine. “What was that?”
“That was a no. If you’re too deaf or stupid to understand me, get someone who can. I’m losing my patience.”
The man’s head turned red. It would take three moves to severe his head from his body. “Tell the Capo he’s here and refuses to put down his weapons.”
If he thought he could intimidate me with the mentioning of Luca, he was mistaken. The times when I’d feared and admired him had long passed. He was dangerous, no doubt, but so was I.
Eventually, he returned and I was finally allowed to pass through the blue-lit cloakroom and dance floor, then down to the basement. Good place if someone wanted to stop outsiders from overhearing screams. That, too, didn’t manage to unnerve me. The Famiglia didn’t know the Camorra very well, didn’t know me very well. We’d never been worth their attention until our power had grown too strong for them to ignore.
The moment I stepped into the office I scanned my surroundings. Growl stood off to the left side. Traitor. Remo would love to have his head delivered to him in a plastic bag. Not because the man had killed his father, but because he’d betrayed the Camorra. That crime was worth a painful death.
In the middle of the room there were Luca and Matteo, both tall and dark, and my sister Aria with her blond hair like a beacon of light.
I remembered her to be taller, but then again, I’d been a kid when I’d last seen her. The shock on her face was obvious. She still wore her emotions on the sleeve. Even her marriage to Luca hadn’t changed that. You’d think he’d have broken her spirit by now. Strange that she was the same I remembered when I had become someone new.
She rushed toward me. Luca reached for her but she was too quick. He and his men drew their weapons the moment Aria collided with me. My hand came up to her neck momentarily. She hugged me, her hands splayed out on my back where I had my knives. She was too trusting. I could have killed her in a heartbeat. Breaking her neck would have taken little effort. I’d killed like that before in fights to the death. Luca’s bullet would have been too late. She looked up at me hopefully, then slowly realization and fear set in. Yes, Aria. I’m not a little boy anymore.
I looked back up. “No need for drawn weapons,” I said to Luca. His cautious gaze flitted between my fingers positioned perfectly on her neck and my eyes. He recognized the danger his little wife was in, even if she didn’t. “I haven’t traveled all the way to hurt my sister.”
It was the truth. I had no intention of hurting her, even though I could have. What Remo had in mind for her, I couldn’t say. I slipped a note into the pocket of her jeans.
Luca staggered toward us and pulled her away from me, warning clear in his eyes.
“My God,” Aria whispered, tears filling her eyes. “What happened to you?”
Did she really have to ask? Had she been so busy saving my sisters, that she hadn’t considered
what that would mean for me?
“You, Gianna and Liliana happened.”
Confusion filled her face. She really didn’t get it. Cold fury shot through me, but I pushed it down. Every horror of my past had made me who I was today.
“I don’t understand.”
“After Liliana ran off as well, Father decided that something must be wrong with all of us. That perhaps Mother’s blood running through our veins was the problem. He thought I was another misfortune in the making. He tried to beat it out of me. Perhaps he thought if I bled often enough, I’d be rid of any trace of that weakness. The moment his whore of a second wife gave birth to a boy, he decided I was no longer of use. He ordered one of his men to kill me. But the man took pity on me and drove me to some shithole in Kansas City so the Bratva could kill me instead. I had twenty dollars and a knife.” I paused. “And I put that knife to good use.”
I could see the words sink in. She shook her head. “We didn’t want to hurt you. We just wanted to save Liliana from a horrible marriage. We didn’t think you’d need saving. You were a boy. You were on your way to becoming a soldier of the Outfit. We would have saved you if you’d asked.”
“I saved myself,” I said simply.
“You could still…leave Las Vegas,” Aria said carefully. Luca sent her a glare.
I laughed darkly. “Are you suggesting I’ll leave the Camorra and join the Famiglia?”
She seemed taken aback by the harshness of my tone. “It’s an option.”
I turned my gaze toward Luca. “Is she Capo or you? I came here to talk to the man leading the show, but now I think it might be a woman after all.”
Luca didn’t seem fazed by my words, at least not openly. “She’s your sister. She does the talking because I allowed her to do so. Don’t worry, Fabi, if I had anything to say to you, I’d do it.”
Fabi. The nickname didn’t provoke me the way it was supposed to. I’d grown out of it. Nobody knew me by that name in Vegas and even if they did, they wouldn’t dare using it.